


Lost Time

by Yati



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, Luke I Am Your Father, post-game speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-27
Updated: 2004-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yati/pseuds/Yati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could wait — another day, another month, another year — and play another game of 'perhaps' in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Was an attempt to write for [Word #60](http://www.livejournal.com/community/15minuteficlets/19261.html)  at [](http://community.livejournal.com/15minuteficlets/profile)[**15minuteficlets**](http://community.livejournal.com/15minuteficlets/), but it grew out of hand. Was certainly not written in fifteen minutes, but at least it made me write.

It was raining when Squall came into his office, and Laguna didn't notice him enter because he was too intent on watching the rivulets of water running across his window.

Kiros had cleared his throat, and Laguna had spun around in surprise to see the SeeD commander standing at attention in front of his desk. Kiros had given a sardonic smile and pulled the door shut, leaving Laguna to squirm under Squall's unwavering gaze. Once he was sure that he had Laguna's attention, Squall started giving his report on the Ultimecia campaign, his voice monotonous but his eyes distant.

_You have your mother's eyes_, Laguna wanted to say. _You have her hair, and if you smile, I'm sure it would be hers too._ His no-nonsense temperament was Raine's as well, and Laguna's heart ached at the thought. _Raine, you'd be so proud of him._

His heart constricted more when he thought of their son. What else was there to say? _I'm sorry I left_; _I never knew about you_? Or maybe even _I love you_, though Laguna knew that the last, especially, was something the boy will refuse to believe.

He turned to watch the rain again as Squall continued, and when Squall stopped talking, he didn't notice.

He was thinking of flowers, linked into a daisy chain by Raine's deft hands. He was thinking of the way Ellone had giggled when he had placed it upon her head. He was thinking of Raine, how exasperated she was at the way he spoiled her young charge. He was remembering Raine's laughter when he had pulled the child up and spun her around as they pretended to dance in the village square during the Flower Festival. He was thinking of Winhill and its quaint cobblestoned streets, and felt a stab of guilt piercing through him as he caught a fleeting image of what life could have been had he returned home eighteen years past.

Perhaps a woman — not so young any more, but lovely still — would be dancing with her son as they celebrated the coming of spring. Perhaps an overprotective father would be chasing away interested suitors to stop them from paying too much attention to his almost grown-up daughter. Perhaps they could've been a real family.

Perhaps they could've been happy.

He wondered if Squall knew what it meant to be happy.

Squall was too disciplined to fidget while Laguna's attention was elsewhere. That _stillness_, that was something he shared with Raine, something rare Laguna had thought only she had possessed. And yet . . . yet this child was _his_ as well. _Theirs._

"Will she come back?" Laguna asked, and for a brief moment he wasn't sure to whom he was referring to.

Squall blinked. "I don't know."

He should tell him now. He could wait — another day, another month, another year — and play another game of 'perhaps' in his head. "Why don't you . . . sit down," Laguna offered, trying not to grimace at the cramp suddenly running up his left leg.

The boy — no, Laguna corrected himself, he was seventeen; he wasn't just a boy any more. He had lost too much time; both of them had. _Squall_. That was his name. _It's a nice name_, he thought, _it suits him well._ "Squall," he said, "have a seat."

Squall blinked at him again. That was the only indication he gave of his surprise. "I have something to talk to you about," Laguna said, and when he paused, his voice caught a few times before he could continue. It was the simplest words that were the hardest to say. " . . . son."


End file.
